


Brother Blues

by Enide_Dear



Series: Brothers Blues [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Chocobros being bros, Male Friendship, No sex in this one, Other, sooo many blues brothers references, they're on a mission from God(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enide_Dear/pseuds/Enide_Dear
Summary: Gladio and Prompto are imprisoned by Niffs and Ignis is in a maximum security prison while Noctis has disappeared. Now they have to escape and reunite with their friends. Smock full of Blues Brothers references and silly humour.Because they're on a mission from God.





	1. Chapter 1

“You just stay close to me no matter what, you hear me?” In the gloomy prison corridor, Gladio’s amber eyes had a faint glow and he was looking down on Prompto, as serious as before any monster fight.   
   
“Okay,” Prompto’s voice sounded weak even to himself. His heart was beating so fast, it was like before his first battle all over again.

But it was not battle; it was far worse than that. Squirming with discomfort in the horrible orange jumpsuit that made his freckles pop awfully, Prompto wondered how it had come to this. Imprisonment by the Niffs was bad enough for him and Gladio, but Ignis repeted escape attempts - three only on the way to the prison - had landed him in a maximum security facility somewhere in the north of Duscae and Noctis was....lost.  
   
“Hey, it’s okay, sunshine. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.” A strong arm around his shoulders gave Prompto a quick hug and then let go just as quickly as the door to the prison courtyard opened. “Just remember we’re the fresh meat here, so we got to prove ourselves real fast.” Gladio cracked his knuckles and Prompto forced himself to care about his own problems; difficult because it wasn't something he was comfortable doing. But he would be no use to anyone anything happened to him here. He doubted the Niff guards would come to their rescue.    
   
“Sounds like you’ve been to priosn before, big guy.” Prompto gave Gladio a curious glance even as the doors opened all the way and they stepped into the scorching heat, Prompto half a step behind.  
   
“Once or twice. Prince’s Shield got to have a bit of a reputation, you know.” He rolled his shoulders. “Besides, the guys I did it to totally deserved it.”  
   
   
Prompto had expected a few catcalls and crude suggestions called after him. He hadn’t expected it to be so….intense. Cringing in Gladio’s shadow he kinda wished humans had earlids as well as eyelids just so he could block it all out.   
   
Gladio walked with slow, unhurried steps around the whole perimeter as if they were models on an astral damned fashion show – ‘better just get it all over with today and tomorrow we wont be as much news’ – before choosing a spot with some shadow in a corner were they could sit with their backs against the wall.   
   
“And now we wait,” he said as Prompto’s wobbly legs could finally let him plop down on a welded-down bench.  
   
“Wait for what?” What was it now? Wasn’t this all over yet?  
   
“Trouble. We don’t go looking for it, but we damn well better be ready when it comes for us, alright?” Gladio punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I got this. You just…don’t listen, alright?”  
   
It was three guys who approached them, finally, each one almost as big as Gladio and Prompto had never wished for his gun so much in his life. At least when fighting monsters you could run away but this….this was like a big trap, holding them all in.  
   
Gladio got to his feet as it became apparent them men were heading for them and Prompto scrambled up to. He could feel the men’s eyes on him, making his skin crawl but tried to stand tall as Noct had told them to.  
   
“Hey, that's a pretty looking bitch you have there. Is he yours?"  
   
And to Prompto’s acute surprise, Gladio answered with a growl.   
   
“And what if he is? You got a problem with that?”  
   
“Not if you share…” the man didn’t get much further before Gladio showed that a King’s Shield, trained in combat since childhood and tempered n numerous monster battles, had every advantage of three prisoners, be they ever how big.  
   
The fight was violent and very very short. Prompto could feel the whole hierarchy of the prison yard shift around them and he doubted he’d get harassed here again.   
   
But one thing had to be addressed, as soon as the three prisoners had dragged themselves away and Gladio sat down again, unhurt but for some bruises on his knuckles.   
   
“Um, big guy….” He started hesitantly. “That was awesome and all but….you’re not really thinking….I mean, you don’t expect me to….” He looked up with pleading eyes. “I mean, I like you but…not….like that.”  
   
“What?” it took a second for the gil to drop and then Gladio burst out laughing, throwing another one armed hug around him.   
   
“Don’t worry kid! You’re not really my type!”  
   
“What is that supposed to mean?! I’m cute, you know. I’m everyone’s type!” relief made Prompto quip back, but his heart felt a little lighter.   
   
   
   
It was damn near impossible to fall asleep that night. The cell was small and cold, nothing much in it but a bunk bed he shared with Gladio – small favors, at least he wasn’t locked in here with a stranger – and a dripping, barely functional toilet. Prompt lay wide awake, staring up at the cracked ceiling above him and trying to keep his breathing regular. His mind kept spinning; how was Noct faring, what about Iggy? What about him and Gladio, stuck in here for who knew how long?  
   
It was enough to make him feel tears welling up, from the loneliness and helplessness but he had mastered those emotions long ago, as a neglected child. He had it under control.   
   
Which was why he was surprised to feel the bed shaking. He blinked and sat up, but the shaking didn’t abate. And it wasn’t him causing it. Carefully he peered over the side of his bed.   
   
“Gladio?” He whispered in the dark, but got no answer. A bit clumsy, he got his feet over the edge and lower himself down to the floor, putting a careful hand on the dark bulk under a threadbare blanket. It was shaking. “Gladio, what is it?”  
   
“It’s nothing. I just…” a strange kind of snuffling sound came from underneath the blankets. A sound Prompto knew far too well but had never expected to hear from the Prince’s Shield.   
   
“Are you…crying?” He didn’t give Gladio a chance to answer; instead he crawled over his friend and wedged his scrawny body in between Gladio and the wall, wrapped his arms around him. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” He whispered softly, holding the tear drenched face against his chest.   
   
“I just….I just miss them, you know.” Gladio sniffled. “And I’m not there, and I can’t help them if they need me and…”  
   
“I know. I know. It’s okay.” Prompt closed his eyes and made it a wish. “It’s okay.”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out that Ignis can probably tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue, a talent that is remarkably useful when you want to escape a maximum security prison facility

Ignis was vexed. Here he was, locked up in a maximum security prison, far from his prince and his friends and anything important that might occur in the world, subjected to daily strip searches of his person and cell and only allowed a soft jumpsuit and no personal effects, not even his glasses.   
   
It just wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.   
   
He kept his frustration under wraps though, played along with the guards rigorous routines and avoided the other prisoners as much as he could, all the while waiting patiently for his chance to break out.   
   
The chance came after approximately seven months. He had been behaving meekly and obedient since he got there and one of the guards walking him to his cell after (a very mediocre) dinner let down his guard long enough to take up a packet of gum from a pocket and pop one in his mouth.  
   
Ignis struck like lightning.   
   
Before the guard had a chance to react, Ignis had torn the packet of gum from his hand and shoved it into his mouth, paper package and all, chewing down frantically.   
   
“What the fuck?!” The guard screamed and a blow hit Ignis, hard, in the back of his head, making him spit out most of the soggy gum. He was wrestled down, his jaws bent up and the rest of the gum groped out by none to gentle hands by the swearing guard. When they were sure he had nothing left in his mouth he was dragged the rest of the way to his cell and unceremoniously dumped inside. “Gods-damned psychopath!”  
   
Laying on the cold floor, bruised and in pain, Ignis smiled. He was after all a man of many talents and had only needed a few seconds to dislodge the part he was after with his tongue and swallow it. Not it was only a matter of waiting for nature to take its course before he got it out and could use it. It would be messy and disgusting but it would  work.   
   
It bloody well better work.   
   
   
   
After a few days and a lot of soap and water, and Ignis had what he wanted. A small piece of aluminum foil, approximately 2x4 cm, very fragile and very, very shiny.   
   
He crumpled it in his hand and waited.   
   
   
When evening came he was led back to his cell by far more paranoid guards, guards that were cranky enough by their mistake two days ago to push him against the door post when he should enter, giving him the opportunity to push the little ball of non-magnetic metal into the magnetic lock. It wouldn’t stop the lock from clicking – aluminum wasn’t magnetic – but it would stop it from going all the way in. He hoped.   
   
The door clicked shut behind the guards and it took all of Ignis considerable willpower to wait for night before he, oh so gently, pushed the door. It slided outwards, the lock slipping free and in Ignis head Prompto’s victory fanfare was playing.   
   
He snuck soundlessly out of his cell, padding on naked feet down the corridor. The thought had occurred to him to open the other cells and add to the mayhem, but he wasn’t one much for mayhem and he didn’t want to be responsible if someone who should be locked up escaped.   
   
No, until he could spring Gladio and Prompto, he was on his own. At least until…he came around a corner, face to face with two guards.   
   
Ah. Good.  
   
“What the….” They started, one reaching for his gun and the other the alarm, but people always underestimated the reach of a trained athlete. Ignis naked foot caught one underneath his chin, knocking him out, and then swept the alarm from the other’s hand. Quickly getting inside the guard’s reach, Ignis helped himself to the gun, clicking it underneath the man’s chin.   
   
“Now,” he said softly, weapon pressed against the helpless man. “My personal affects, if you will.”  
   
The man had no choice, but along the way they passed by the janitor’s storage room and Ignis helped himself to a broom, a glue gun and some toilet cleaner.   
   
The guard let him into the storage room and quickly found his box of belongings, babbling nervously the whole time.   
   
“One Timepiece, shattered. One unused prophylactic.” A faintly disgusted look crossed his face. “One soiled. One Crowns guard jacked, black, one pair of crowns guard pants, black, one shirt, coerl spotted, one pair of glasses. 23.07 Gils.” He licked his lips nervously. “I suppose I can’t get you to sign?”  
   
“Correct.” Still trailing the gun, Ignis quickly shrugged out of his prison clothes. He knew the guard was stalling; there were security cameras all over the place and his escape had not gone unnoticed. Silent alarms were going off around the whole place, and the police was most certainly on its way.   
   
He was counting on it.   
   
Breaking the broom into the desired length, he tossed the prison suit to the guard and took up the glue gun.   
   
“And now for a little hobby project.”  
   
   
Fifteen minutes later a blonde man in a prison suit, holding a gun, appeared at the gated doors. At least ten police cars and twenty prison guards were waiting as he staggered out.  
   
“Ignis Scienta, we have you surrounded!” A police shouted in a megaphone. “Lay down your weapon and raise your hands over your head!”  
   
The man made no move to comply, shaking weirdly as he staggered towards the increasingly nervous police officers.  
   
“Lay down your weapon now!”   
   
The man didn’t.   
   
“Lay them down or we will have to shoot!”  
   
The man still didn’t put the gun down, and his arms were strangely drawn out at the sides. He said nothing, but he came closer.   
   
The police fired. The man fell, still clutching the gun and the guards and police men threw themselves over…..a security guard in a prison suit, his mouth glued shut, a broom handle stuck in the arms and shoulders making it impossible to raise his hands. And the gun glued to his hand.   
   
“Shit!” The police sergeant turned around. “Get an ambulance here, right now! Is Scienta still in the building?”  
   
“No sign of him!” The prison director kept his eyes on the video feeds. “He must have escaped!”  
   
“I want roadblocks at every major and minor road. Get in the dogs and the helicopters. Go, go, go!”  
   
And so Ignis, in the prison guards uniform, helped himself to a police car and drove off.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting into a Niff base undetected is easy if you are willing to sacrifice your mental health.

   
“So we’re fugitives again,” rolling up his shirtsleeves, Ignis started preparing supper. “We’ve done that before.” He cast a glance at his friends in the blue haven light; changed back to their normal crowns guard uniforms they looked much the same as always. “Are you two alright?” he asked more softly.   
   
“Yeah sure. Prom took care of me, didn’t you buddy?” Gladio grinned at the gunner who jolted surprised and flushed a little red on his cheeks.   
   
“Right back at you, big guy.” He made a finger gun at Gladio and Ignis relaxed a fraction. Everything seemed alright.  
   
“How ‘bout you, Iggy?” Gladio said slowly, as if he just realized something. “I mean, you escaped a maximum security prison.”  
   
“Yeah,” Prompto laughed a little nervously. “You didn’t have to kill someone, did you?”  
   
“No, I didn’t kill someone.” Ignis stirred his pots, not looking up, then added slowly. “I killed some *things* though, but not someone.”  
   
“Aw, damn, Iggy.” Gladio got to his feet, giving the confused Prompto a light punch on the shoulder to make him follow. Together they put their arms around the advisor, holding him tightly.   
   
“Damn cooking steam,” Ignis said a bit hoarsely, trying to pretend he wasn’t being hugged and that he didn’t slightly shiver from the relief warm, strong accepting arms around him. “It’s fogging up my glasses.”  
   
“Sure it is, Iggy.”  
   
“So, anyway.” Once he’d gotten a hold of himself once more, Ignis gently shook of his friends. “I have an idea on how to get Noctis free. But you are not going to like it.”  
   
   
Ignis was right, Prompto thought as another panic attack washed over him, he didn’t like this at all.   
   
The MT Unit standard armor was horribly familiar despite it being almost 15 years since he last donned it. He was too skinny as well, and slightly too small and it chafed. Every second seemed to heighten his claustrophobia exponentially.  
   
It didn’t help that it smelled. MT Units weren’t robots so much as armored, trained zombies and although it had been fairly easy for Gladio to ambush one, Ignis to kill it with almost no dent to the armour and then peel it piecemeal of the dead flesh like an obscene orange, and for Prompto to don it, that just fooled the MTs visual senses. He had to not smell like a human, and the way to do that, according to Ignis, was garlic. It was rubbed all over his body and he had eaten almost a whole garlic and although he sweated the stench from every pore of his body now, he didn’t smell like, well, Prompto.  
   
He smelled like a decaying gastropod drenched in spices by an over enthusiastic chef, but not like a human.   
   
Sweating like a pig, Prompto marched into the transporter with the same mind numbing, boot crunching pace as the MTs and stood in strict attention, trying not to faint from the stench of his own body, the fact that he had to stand still for almost two hours or the sheer mind numbing terror that made him want to vomit.   
   
He could do this. He had done it before and this time….it was for Noct.   
   
   
It was night before they arrived at the base and Prompto had stars swimming in front of his eyes by then, his knees wobbling dangerously as he walked off the transporter with the other MTs. They would go into storage now, except for the ones on guard and fortunately robots didn’t question when one of them  broke free from formation to stand in stiff – if a bit shaking – attention by a random door.   
   
And neither did the human guards. MTs followed orders, and if one of them was standing in front of a storage room door, well then someone must have told it to.  
   
Prompto focused on his breathing as he waited for the night to grow darker and most of the humans to withdraw before he started moving. He felt stiff and extremely noticeable as he walked down the base but no one stopped him. Why would an MT stop another MT?  
   
He knew the general outline of a base well enough to know where high security prisoners were likely to be held but you needed several high classed security codes to get into them.   
   
Or an MT bar code tattooed on your wrist.   
   
Prompto’s heart was beating so fast he thought it might actually explode as he held up his hand to the bar code reader. This was the weakest link in a plan that, despite being Ignis’, had several weak links, all of which would make him end up dead if they snapped. Dead or worse, imprisoned by the army again and his blood ran cold when he remembered what that was like.   
   
What Noct was going through right now, probably.   
   
That thought snapped him out of his dread and he held up his wrist, fully expecting all kinds of alarms to go off when the old barcode was read.  
   
The door beeped and opened.   
   
Prompto stepped into the prison.   
   
TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

The corridors echoed horribly under the clumsy metal shoes, making Prompto wince and wish for his sneakers. Not that sneaking would have helped; the corridors were brightly lit, completely open, and there were MTs standing guard at every cell. Prompto could count at least ten of them but by now sweat was dripping from his forehead, making it difficult to see properly. None of them had been able to predict what the prison facility would be like so Ignis had not been able to make predictions. If he got this far, Prompto would just have to wing it.   
   
He kinda hoped that throwing up would count as ‘winging it’ because that was the only thing he felt qualified to do right now.   
   
But barfing was not an option; he needed to take out ten MTs alone, and either so smoothly that he didn’t trigger any alarms, or so quickly that he had time to find and escape with Noct before all hell broke loose.   
And he had absolutely no idea of how to do either.   
   
The MT closest to him made a strange sound and it felt like all of Prompto’s sweat froze to ice. He knew that sound. It was searching for a target. One by one the other MT turned towards him, buzzing with search functions.  
   
He must have sweated out the last of the garlic, or maybe he had stood still too long or maybe…fuck it, he was all out of options.  
   
His brain went as cold as his sweat as he started shooting, his hands remarkably steady for all that the rest of his body was shaking. He dodged, tried to get some distance as the MTs came at him in force but they were to many and he panicked.   
   
Tearing loose a grenade and dropping it, Prompto fled for cover. The MTs were just too slow.   
   
The explosion knocked Prompto off his feet but it also tore the MTs to scrap metal and for a few blessed seconds all was quiet. Then the alarms started blearing.   
   
Shaking, Prompto got to his feet, forcing himself to focus. There were only one locked door, he realized, stumbling over pieces of MTs to press his barcode against it, praying to all Astrals that this would work, that Noct would be inside.   
   
The door opened and he almost fell inside.   
   
From a very small cot, under a ragged blanket, a sleepy head poked up to look confused at the imperial soldier in the door way.   
   
“Aren’t you a little short for an MT?” frowned the crown prince of Lucis.   
   
“Huh?” Oh right, the helmet. Prompto pulled it off. “No, it’s me! I’ve come to rescue you. Come on!”  
   
Noctis stumbled out of bed and straight into Prompto’s arms; his body was strangely limp and he blinked owlishly up at his friend.   
   
“You have the prettiest blue eyes,” he said in utter fascination, making Prompto almost drop him.   
   
“Ahahaha, yeah, sure Noct.” It wasn’t easy trying to support the limp prince; Prompto could only hope Noct could bear his own weight with some help steering. “What, uh, what did they do to you?”  
   
For answer, Noctis held up his arm. A large number of needle marks pin pricked the skin from the elbow down.   
   
“Truth serum, they told me.” His pupils were huge but he seemed to find his legs. “Don’t know if it worked. I start feeling weird after a few hours. They stop interrogating me then.”  
   
“Who interrogated you?” Noctis strange motions and limp body meant they weren’t heading for the door, just kinda slow dancing in the cell. Desperation gave Prompto a surge of energy and he managed to manhandle the prince towards the exit.   
   
“He did.” Noctis pointed unsteady, straight at the wall.   
   
For a few precious seconds Prompto thought it was just whatever drug they had injected Noctis with that made him see things, but they a static went over a section of the wall and an old man’s face, familiar in a way that sent a shock wave of fear through Prompto even though he couldn’t for the life of him say why, appeared on a screen.  The old man frowned.  
   
“MT, let go of the prince at once. No new interrogation is scheduled until the side effects wear off.”  
   
MT? Prompto didn’t have his helmet on and that raised questions he didn’t care to think about. He hurried Noct towards the exit.   
   
“MT, this is Chief of Reaserch Verstael Besithia, you will obey my orders or….” The old man frowned and then his face split up in a humorless leer.  “Well, aren’t you an odd MT? I think I will keep you for further research. You squad!” He turned to someone off screen. “Seal all exits! I will personally lead the of the two fugitives! No one is to harm them, get them alive!”  
   
Prompto fled, Noctis still cradled in his arms.   
   
   
   
   
They were gaining on them, fast, the MTs and even worse that strangely familiar old man who had called himself Verstael Besithia.  Prompto was utterly lost in the bewildering maze that was the imperial base and Noctis was no real  help, too spaced out on whatever truth serum he’d been given and barely able to keep his feet underneath himself. But if they could only find were Ignis and Gladio was waiting on the other side of the fence, they would still have a chance, all he had to do was keep moving, keep dragging Noct along and they would be fine…  
   
Prompto stopped dead in his track. On two sides they were surrounded by warehouse walls, on the third a chainlink fence. And behind him he could hear the sound that made his blood freeze; the small chuckle and unhurried steps of the imperial Chief of Research closing in.   
   
Wildly Prompto cast around for a place to hide; there were a few boxes in a corner and that would work for like five seconds but in the middle of the alley was a manhole. Carefully putting Noct down, Prompto ran over to it and heaved; it rose slowly and the most awful smell he’d ever encountered started to waft out. He almost gagged but managed not to drop the cover; it wasn’t a waterway but a sewer down there. His eyes watered and his stomach heaved no matter how he tried to control himself but he dropped the cover to one side. The stench of human filth rose around him and he reeled back.   
   
There had to be another way. But there wasn’t.  
   
He had to do this. Somehow he had to get himself and Noct down in that horrible filth and slouch his way through the darkness and repulsive muck and find his way out or they would both be caught again and killed or worse.   
   
His thoughts swam in desperation as he got Noct up and slowly approached the manhole.   
   
   
Verstael Besithia was in no hurry. His quarry was caught; there was no way out of that alley as he well knew. The MT who had saved Noct looked strangely unfamiliary – well, of course they all  looked the same, but this one was somehow different. Looked different, acted very different. He looked very much forward to dissecting it to find out what had gone wrong.   
   
As he stepped into the alley, the stench hit him almost like a punch to the face. Bile rose in his throat as he stepped closer, frowning at the gaping hole in the middle of the alley floor. Surely they couldn’t have…..  
He stepped closer, hand over his nose, and bent down to take a closer look.   
   
Prompto rushed out from behind the crates and with all his might *shoved*. The chief of research let out a short, horrified scream as he fell head first down the sewer pipe, but it was quickly cut off as Prompto dragged the manhole cover back on.   
   
Sometimes a five second hideout is all you need.   
   
“Come on,” Prompto fetched Noctis once more. “Let’s get out of here.”  
   
   
“And then we found you and you cut us out. End of story.” Prompto finished his tale by the campfire haven, looking pleased with himself. Or maybe just pleased to be back in his normal clothes and not covered by feces.  
   
“Very resourceful,” Ignis said impressed. “With any luck they will still be looking for their lost researcher come morning.”  
   
“Yeah, and by then he’ll really deserve to be called shithead,”Gladio chuckled and then sighed wearily as Noctis, now in the belief he was a cat, rubbed his back against the Shield’s leg and tried to purr. “So maybe now we could focus on getting the High King of Lucis to stop trying to scratch my pants to shreds?”  
   
“He wouldn’t do that if you would just scratch him behind the ear,” Ignis admonished gently, but started fishing around for a remedy. “But there is no accounting for the side effects of truth serum; it’s a very unstable science. Drat. We are all out of Remedies. Oh well, he will just have to stay that way until we can do some shopping tomorrow.”  
   
“Great. That’s just great. I’m the Shield of the world’s first cat-king.” Gladio grumbled as Noct jumped up in his lap and tried to get comfortable in a way his spine was not designed for. “Let’s keep this out of the history books, alright?” He finally relented and started petting the confused prince. Noctis yawned, stretched and immediately fell asleep.  
   
“Yeah, but I mean he’s got back his fascination for naps and fish, so it must be a step in the right direction, right?” Prompto snickered.  
   
   
   
“So, I didn’t do anything weird, did I?” Noctis asked the next morning after a quick stop at the Taelpar Reststop. “I can’t really remember much after they injected me.”  
   
“Nope, nothing at all.” Prompto jumped into the car seat next to Ignis.  
   
“Completely normal.” Gladio agreed.  
   
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Ignis added.  
   
Noct looked at the three carefully blank faces and groaned, slapping his hands over his face.   
   
“….you guys have photos, don’t you?” He mumbled between fingers.   
   
“Aaaaand videos,” Prompto said cheerfully. “Of Lucis next King trying to catch fish with his hands. And purring.”  
   
“Don’t forget trying to lick his own , Gladio added.  
   
“And hissing at vegetables.” Ignis put the Regalia in gear. “So in all, a very normal evening. Where to next?”  
   
“Back to Insomnia,” Noct growled still from behind his hands. “I want revenge on the bastard who put us through this.”  
   
“Well then,” Ignis adjusted his glasses. “It’s a hundred and fifty miles to Insomnia, we got a full tank of gas, half a packet of Ebony, it’s the middle of morning and I am indeed wearing my glasses. Your call, you majesty.”  
   
“Hit it, Specs.”  
 


End file.
